Connectivity
by Sky Samuelle
Summary: Story of how Elle Gray went from loving her baby to hating him and back to loving him again.


**Connectivity**

**Fandom: Heroes**

**Ship: Sylar/Elle**

**Spoilers: Eclipse I&II**

**Summary: Story of how Elle Gray went from loving her baby to hating him and back to loving him again.**

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She has been having nightmares about the eclipse again.

Every night she relives it all: her body under his, the pain of her injured leg, the bittersweet inevitability of his mouth ghosting over hers. His fingertips on her forehead, too gentle before they brought agony. The black abyss behind his gaze, swallowing her will to fight.

"_You're hurting me."_

"_I know."_

Every night, in those memories that her dreams bring back to life, he kills her.

And every morning, when she awakes to the coffee aroma that fills their kitchen or to the sounds of Gabriel dressing up for work, all she feels is numb.

It's unfair, really.

By her nature, Elle Bishop is not a forgiving person: she is petty and sadistic and vengeful, but for him, she has always made exceptions upon exceptions.

Because he used to accept her, to _see_ her, to be kind to her. He used to be the only one who did.

And now it's all gone.

She sees it every time he holds little, innocent Noah in his arms, the light in his gaze that proclaims how this tiny helpless creature is his redemption.

Having a child has lulled the Hunger to sleep, chaining Sylar somewhere deep and quiet where all monsters go when the morning finally comes to banish long, starless nights.

Pathetic, that's how the awe in his voice sounds to her ears when she hears Gabriel singing softly to Noah, those hands once stained with blood patting the baby's back so gently.

Just looking at them makes her sick and bone-deep tired. The jealousy makes her skin crawl, coerces her to stay curled in her bed, pinned down by some nameless longing, an inescapable sense of betrayal and loss haunting her every breath.

It wasn't always this way. Elle used to be excited, avidly reading every pregnancy book she managed to get her hands on, amused when Gabriel stole one from her only to give it back with notes scribbled around the corners.

She used to love the idea of a new life growing inside her, the concept of having someone who would love her wholly and would long for her approval.

But it's all gone now.

She can't reconcile that two-month old human doll that Gabriel carries around her home with the creature that used to kick inside her. She misses its warmth, the hope, the desperate passion in Gabriel's touch.

She has forgiven him for killing and she tries to remember that he has brought her back to life, too, although not intentionally.

She can't forgive him for failing to see the real her, for his desperate need to fit her in the role of a fucking Stepford mommy for his fucking child of salvation.

With him it's always 'Will you hold Noah a little, Elle?' or 'Noah looks this way, Noah did that today'.

Like he could force her to care with his sappy speeches and happy smiles. He never sits beside her and asks out loud why she can't love her son. Or even stomach touching him.

Elle fantasizes about telling him sometimes. She imagines swaying to him in her most horrid oversized nightgown and revealing in her most chipper tone just how much she despises him and his spawn.

_For a guy who understands how things work, you sure aren't trying too hard to figure me out_ – she would start.

Because that's the truth: he has stopped paying attention to her desires. She can't love Noah because Gabriel has chosen _him_ to be his salvation, and that only means he has never stopped believing Elle was his damnation.

Noah has taken away the illusion she had to be loved, and all that is left is a desolate wretchedness.

Elle leans over the cradle, touches hesitantly the puffy cheeks of the infant inside.

Nothing…she can't still feel the intimate connection they used to share.

That's a betrayal, too, even if the baby stays a pretty doll in her eyes. A serene-looking doll with wide, nebulous eyes and a tiny nose.

She holds its warm body against her chest, her eyelids fluttering shut as she prays to feel something, anything at all. So it won't be over and she will stop feeling like an alien presence in her home.

There's only Sylar 's voice, at the edge of her mind, taunting, calling both of them _damaged goods_.

"_No one ever really changes" –_he told her _then, _but perhaps all he meant was that she was broken, rotten inside. That she made him into a monster and would continue to do so.

Their love wasn't pure enough; only innocent little Noah could save him.

With the thought of Gabriel seeing her like that, comes the rage, the hatred.

It completely overtakes her, and even if Noah is not really the target, her skin hums with electricity, fury rising and crashing within her, out of control.

Elle hears the cry before she fully realizes she is electrocuting daddy's little angel.

It's like a white-hot fever, possessing her so completely than she can't stop, can't even breathe as the baby convulses in her shaking arms.

When it's over her cheeks are somehow wet and she is sobbing, her throat sore, something limp pressed tight against her breasts.

She is holding tightly onto her dead baby but her tears, she says to herself, aren't truly for him.

Noah wasn't hers like Gabriel wasn't hers anymore, but the hysterical laughter that bubbles out of her parched mouth hurts, hurts so much.

Elle remembers how it felt, dying by the hand of someone who was supposed to protect her. Daddy dearest killed her inside so many times before Sylar got the chance to finish her off.

She remembers coming to life again in her funeral pyre, the fire her murderer had generated from her power healing her in mysterious ways. Sylar had not meant to revive her, but electricity had animated her again.

Her power had not turned against her. At least until today, because despite of everything else, it feels like something has just been ripped away from her.

Elle lays down on the floor, not tired and not numb for once, but empty all the same.

The way she is curled around the bundle in her arms could be called protective, but it's not. There's nothing to protect here anymore.

And then something moves, bumping against her chin.

Elle rises on her knees to check better, frowning, disbelieving.

Noah Gray is not so dead anymore.

The fact's not entirely displeasing, surprisingly enough. Maybe she might even be a little bit relieved.

"Self-regeneration, huh?" - she sighs, half-resignedly- "You are precocious."

The little monster makes a gurgle that nearly sounds pleased. Or victorious.

It's either her imagination, or the beginning of a beautiful masochistic attitude towards life.

"That will be our little secret," she decides, considering that maybe she and this demanding little thing can now be called even.

Eye for eye, trauma for trauma.

When Gabriel comes home, he finds his wife reading to their child, a pleased grin on her lips for the first time in a very long time. It quite reassures him, although …she had _barely_ glanced his way when he kissed her nape in greeting.

He is not used to being ignored by Elle, who has lately developed this cute habit to glare at him resentfully while pointedly ignoring Noah's needs. Still, he has always known –or hoped- she would come around, _eventually_.

He doesn't start to feel neglected until a week later.


End file.
